


Second Christmas in the bunker

by soy_em



Series: 12 days of Wincestmas 2016 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9234992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: Dean is filled with festive spirit and cheer ahead of their second Christmas in the bunker.Sam is not.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [random_firework](https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_firework/gifts).



> Parts 1 & 2 of my 12 days of Wincestmas!

Their first Christmas in the bunker is quiet. They are still a little shell shocked by their good fortune, by their new home. And it’s not exactly a traditional home, with its perils on every shelf and around every corner. They are still exploring and cataloguing and prodding dangerous objects, and as a result, Christmas passes with little fanfare. They have a couple of beers, watch a film and chill out. 

Their second Christmas feels like a big deal, at least to Dean. They are settled, now, and the bunker very definitely feels like home. They’re even pretty sure they’ve found, sorted and stored all the dangerous shit that was lying around. Dean has spent the year nesting, creating a space that feels like it belongs to him (to them), and he’s ready to fill it with Christmas cheer.

Sam is not. 

“We should go to town, get some Christmas shit,” he says to Sam in early December, on a break between cases. The blurry edges of Christmas with mom prickle at the edges of his mind, memories of warm light and cocoa with marshmallows and tight hugs and the excitement of presents. He’s barely restraining himself from bouncing on his feet, excited at the thought of picking out their very own Christmas decorations. 

“Like eggnog?” Sam asks, barely looking up from his book.

“Like decorations. A tree. A giant sparkly reindeer statue. I dunno Sammy, Christmas stuff.”

“Really, Dean? I didn’t think you’d wanna bother with that stuff. It’s not like we ever make a big deal out of it.” Sam is borderline dismissive, not really paying attention to his big brother’s master plan, and Dean is not impressed.

“C’mon Sammy, you know you wanna,” he wheedles. He’s not afraid to break out his own version of the puppy eyes, Sam doesn’t have a monopoly on them after all. He pouts slightly, widening his eyes and doing his best to look slightly pitiful. 

Sam takes one look at him and caves, knowing he won’t hear the end of it otherwise. 

“Alright, fine. We’ll go into town and get Christmas stuff. But I wanna go to the farmer’s market as well.”

Dean beams, and Sam melts just a little inside. 

***

It takes Dean about 10 minutes to realise that Christmas decoration shopping with Sam is not how he wants to spend his time. His brother is grumpy, stomping around the shop and looking distrustfully at anything that sparkles. Sam’s natural politeness is also clearly tested by the large number of harried shoppers towing screaming toddlers behind them. Dean quickly revises his master plan to decorating the bunker as a beautiful surprise for Sam, and sends him off to the farmers market. 

After an hour, a stand off with a soccer mom over the last stocking, an unfortunate accident with a child holding a tub of glitter (Dean is worried he’ll be glittery until next christmas) and an unwanted phone number from the child’s very attractive mother, Dean is done (and triumphantly clutching the last stockings). He loads everything into Baby, hiding it all in with the weapons, and collects Sam, who appears to have bought enough homemade chutney to feed a small army. Dean side-eyes the ones that have visible vegetables in them as Sam slides into the car. 

“Hey, Sammy. I couldn’t find any of that fancy ass beer you like, you think you could make a run to the big store tomorrow? And they were out of the big bags of salt, we could do with some of those as well.” Dean thinks he’s pretty clever - the big store is three towns over and the round trip will take Sam a good few hours, giving him plenty of time to decorate everything. 

Sam gives him a startled look - it’s not normal for Dean to suggest that Sam drive Baby, so Dean improvises quickly. “I was thinking you could take the red mustang from the garage - we need to test out driving it long distance.”

Luckily, Sam seems content with this explanation, and Dean grins, already imagining where he is going to put all his new Christmas stuff.

***  
Sam sets off the next morning, looking just too young to be the guy having a mid-life crisis in the red convertible. Dean waits until he’s sure his brother is really gone - no missing wallets, no sudden decisions that today would be a better day to do research - and gets to decorating. 

Hours later, the bunker is cheery, merry and festive. Dean hadn’t discriminated against any decorations, and he’s created a mish-mash of styles, with a singing, flashing plastic Rudolph presiding over an elegant vase of sprayed twigs and holly. Tinsel circles the ceilings (where he could reach) and holly (and some mistletoe) festoons the doorways. The bunker is sparkling clean and that had taken longer than anything else (Dean often wonders, as he hoovers endless hallways, how the original inhabitants had kept the place clean - he’d bet money that they’d had maid-service sent in by the Men of Letters, those seixst bastards). In short, he’s created a masterpiece, and now he just needs Sam home to appreciate it.

***  
It’s late by the time Sam gets back. Dean has long since given up waiting, and is slumped in one of the library chairs, watching re-runs of MASH with a glass (or three) of whisky. He hears the door open and Sam’s thudding footsteps (probably tracking in mud, Dean thinks, annoyed) - and then the footsteps stop, only halfway down the stairs.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice sounds unsure, slightly worried. “Are you there”

Dean spins his chair round, slightly faster than he anticipated; (perhaps there had been more than three whiskies.) 

“Yeah, course.” he replies. 

“Did...did something happen?” Sam asks slowly. “Was there a cursed object?”

“What?” Now Dean is confused. Sam is talking nonsense, and not mentioning his masterplan at all. 

“There is a lot of Christmas here, Dean. Did you get cursed or something?”

Dean stands and peers up at Sam, who looks genuinely concerned, without a hint of little brother sass. 

“No.” He turns back around and walks off towards their bedroom. Sam doesn’t like it, he thinks. Well why would he, says the voice in his head, the one he tries so hard not to listen to. It looks ridiculous, and Sam’s never liked Christmas. No wonder he doesn’t like it. Dean’s got it all wrong again.

When he gets to their room, he collects his pillow, his gun and his sleep shorts quickly. He’ll sleep in one of the other rooms tonight. He doesn’t think he can face being around Sam, when Sam will obviously be so pissed off that he created so much mess in their home. 

“Dean,” Sam yells from the library. 

“Dean!” comes Sam’s voice from the kitchen. 

“DEAN!” Sam’s voice echoes from the hallway outside the spare room Dean has chosen. 

Dean doesn’t respond, hoping Sam will go away, but he doesn’t. The door opens, and Sam steps in. 

“Dean, can you come with me for a minute?” When Dean still doesn’t respond, Sam strides over to the bed and pulls Dean up by the arms. He hustles Dean out of the room, and Dean just has to pretend he wants to go because he always forgets how incredibly strong Sam is and how easily his brother can manhandle him. (Except for sometimes when he’s remembering during alone time in the shower as he comes over his fist, but that’s not a thought for now. It’s not hot, not at all.)

Sam pulls him through the bunker, and into the war room. He pauses them under the archway, and looks steadily at Dean.

“You,” he says seriously, maintaining eye contact despite Dean’s attempts to look away. “Are an idiot.”

With that he cups Dean’s face, leans down just a little, and kisses Dean on the mouth. It’s slow and sweet, so unlike most of their heat-filled kisses and Dean’s knees definitely do not buckle.

Sam pulls back and grins his blinding, dimpled grin at his brother. “I love it, Dean. I’m sorry I didn’t get it straight away. Wanna know what my favourite bit is?”

“What?” Dean is still slightly grumpy and not willing to believe Sam just yet.

Sam looks up. “The mistletoe,” he says, smiling, and kisses Dean again.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [tumblr](soy-em.tumblr.com)!


End file.
